


Rituals: Watching

by brandedwithfire



Series: Rituals [5]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandedwithfire/pseuds/brandedwithfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/></p>
</div>Agron liked to watch his fellow rebels.... but the person  he most liked to watch was Nasir!
            </blockquote>





	Rituals: Watching

**Author's Note:**

> As always I want to thank gaygreekgladiator for your encouragement, support and guidance <3
> 
> I would also like to thank Onlymywishfulthinking for the amazing banner <3
> 
> And thank you to anyone that reads this little story, or any of my stories. I cannot even begin to express how much it means to me <3

Sometimes Agron just liked to watch. It was a habit he had picked up when the Romans had dragged him kicking and fighting into slavery. He would watch as often as he could. Like when he was sitting with heavy chains around his wrists binding him to Duro and the others. His eyes always focused upon Duro, beloved brother and friend, determined to keep him safe at all costs. 

Or he would watch at others times, such as when they were sold to the ludus to train as gladiators. At the ludus watching had become as much of a habit as it was for survival. A man that soaked in all the quiet happenings of his surroundings had better chance at living than a man who was oblivious. Agron would watch the clash of the other gladiators, or the whispered words shared when voices thought no one was there. He would watch the slaves and Romans alike, absorbing all yet saying nothing. For Agron at the ludus watching was surviving. 

For him now though, a free man, a rebel, a warrior, a friend and lover, watching was no longer for survival but it was instinct, a habit, a ritual he simply could not break.  
Agron would watch all the happenings of the rebel camp. He saws Lugo and Donar sharing morning breakfast, each trying to outdo the other in how much they could fit into their mouths while boasting of tales and conquests at home. Their thick accents muffled by mouthfuls of food, smiles upon their faces, a constant reminder to Agron of why he fought so hard. 

He would watch Spartacus as he manoeuvred around the camp, taking his time with each person that approached. Agron noticed most of all that although Spartacus was their leader, the man who issued orders and guided them in battle, he was also one of them. He did not place his life above any other, rather spoke with tender word and gave gentle touch as needed. His actions drew all to him and it was in this that Agron would see why Spartacus was so loved and respected. He was not like a Roman who thought himself better than all, he was a free man, a man who had known slavery and now savoured the sweet breath of freedom. 

Agron also noticed that Spartacus liked to watch too. He would look over the others be it in training, gathering supplies or any other task at hand. Spartacus always liked to know what was happening and his eyes seemed to take in all around. He was careful to inspect, to look, to study, to take time to speak with those who battled and fought at his side.  
In his observations Agron also noticed that Mira would watch Spartacus. The bold woman, who always spoke her mind, would follow Spartacus with her eyes; dark and beautiful, soaking in every movement, every word that their leader spoke. The relationship between them, despite all his watching, was one that Agron could not even work out and one which Nasir had told him to stay out of. Spartacus and Mira were both headstrong and fierce, determined to see all out of the bonds of slavery and into the sweet land of freedom. Yet Mira was fierce and independent, determined to be her own woman in all things and never again to face the instructions and orders of another. She would hold her head high, speak her mind and share thoughts. She cared and loved for all of those about her, giving her time and advice as often as she could. 

The German would also watch Crixus, fellow general of the rebellion and yet underneath it all he was still a fucking Gaul. Agron would watch him with narrowed eyes, always studying movement both to detect signs of betrayal and also to study strategy. This most of all Agron enjoyed watching for one day green eyes would find weak spot in Crixus’ battle and then he would seize opportunity to watch the mighty Champion of Capua fall by his own hands! Nasir always chastised him, telling him such thoughts were like children battling in the streets, each trying to outdo the other yet in heart Agron could not help himself. He would find weakness in Crixus’ style and see him fall to the dirt!  
Agron would watch Naevia too, the woman Nasir had risked life for and in return she had dragged him back from the brink of death. Forever Agron would be grateful for Naevia’s soft touch and skill, her dedication in returning favour saw Nasir find feet and smile and laughter once more. No deep words had been spoken between Agron or Naevia, just a silent gratitude from one to the other for returning a heart that Agron knew he could never live without. 

Naevia was a woman of deep strength – after all she had to be to put up with a fucking Gaul! From a weak slave who barely held blade she had become a fierce warrior, at times even rivalling the skills of Saxa! Strong and determined she would no longer be at the brunt of someone else’s punishment. She would hold her own, head strong, tall and beautiful. Although Agron had never said as such he found a sense of pride and happiness in watching Naevia as she trained, a true beauty and warrior now in her own right.  
If there was ever a woman to watch it was Saxa, the German lioness that could rival any man and outdid most. Agron enjoyed seeing his kin, be it in training or battle or sharing laughter and drink by the crackling of the night’s fire. Saxa reminded Agron of all the goodness of home. Bright and bold Saxa was, just like the women of his village. Strong, determined, such a sense of self that there was no doubting who Saxa was and what she wanted.

Agron would watch Saxa training new recruits, each young pup thinking they could out match this lithe woman with a simple swing of their blade. Yet each time Saxa would sweep out leg or flick with blade and they would fall causing a deep rumble of laughter to burst from Agron’s parted lips. If he ever wanted a laugh or a reminder of home Agron need only ever to watch Saxa.

He would also watch Gannicus and know that the man would watch him in return in equal proportion. It seemed that Gannicus liked to observe just as much as Agron did, saying little unless directly spoken to but knowing all that was happening in the camp. Gannicus was a man of mystery, a man that no matter how much Agron watched him, studied him, followed him with his eyes, he could never quire work out. 

But the person that Agron most liked to watch was Nasir. He especially liked to watch Nasir as they lay together in the small room they shared. Lost in each other’s embrace, calloused fingers roaming over scarred skin, giving each other such pleasures that Agron had thought impossible until he had met Nasir. Agron would soak in every bump, every curve, every mark and bruise that tarnished such beautiful skin. He would watch with wide, desire filled eyes as Nasir’s strong back would arch as a wave of pleasure washed over him, or the way full lips would part as Agron’s name tumbled from tongue. He would revel in the way those impossibly dark eyes would look at him with such love and desire that Agron knew there was nothing else in the world that mattered in that moment as much as Nasir did. He would watch every movement Nasir’s body made, burning it to memory never to be forgotten. 

He would watch Nasir as they lay together afterwards the crystal light of the moon filtering into their room, his lover lost to slumber, the only noise the soft passing of breath though parted lips. So content and at peace that Agron vowed he would do anything to always see Nasir at such rest. 

Yet Agron also liked to look at lover at other times, like during the day when he trained. There was just something about Nasir as he wielded blade and spear that would stop Agron mid step, eyes drawn to his wild little dog. 

Agron would soak it all in, from the tiny beads of sweat that formed between Nasir’s muscular shoulder blades to the sun glimmering off his dark skin. Each move of firm thigh or shift of body Agron would watch. He knew every strength that Nasir held in battle and also every weakness. It was these weaknesses that Agron burned to memory and would make point to remind Nasir of later. Each weakness, each fault that he noticed a clever (if there ever was such a thing) Roman would also pick out in the heat of battle. One fault, one slip and Nasir would fall; if that were to happen Agron would never forgive himself. So he would watch his lover train, memorize the other’s weaknesses and drill them into Nasir, dragging him to train again and again until weakness was removed and replaced by better, smarter strategy.

He would always, always watch Nasir in battle. In the back of his mind Agron knew that Nasir could hold his own with both spear and blade. He fought with more passion and determination than half of those that had survived from the days at the ludus. Nasir had once been a house slave but upon the field of battle he was a free man, a wild little dog fighting for life, for freedom and for loyalty to friends. 

Always out of the corner of his eye Agron would keep eye upon Nasir, a habit that could cost his own life but one he cared not to break if it meant ensuring Nasir walked from clash with the Romans with life still intact. After the heat of battle, stained with blood and dirt Agron would watch the heaving rising and falling of Nasir’s chest, the dark eyes that were blown wide from the rush and power of the fight. Green eyes would study every inch of Nasir’s skin, taking in every stain of crimson blood determined to find out if it was from Roman or Nasir. He would look for cuts or marks which could end life or injury not yet known to Nasir, not leaving an inch of skin unstudied. Not until he was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nasir, his heart, still beat without worry of injury or death. 

There were other times that Agron liked to watch also, times not focused upon training or battle. Like the way Nasir’s brow would furrow as he mused over supplies and stores of food. Somewhere along the line it had become Nasir’s duty and responsibility to ensure that food was stocked and supplies ran high. He was to oversee all, such responsibility given only to one that Spartacus would trust with his life. Often Nasir would be gone for hours, busy organising matters which no matter how much he tried Agron would never understand. He would argue with Lugo over swords or speak sternly with Gannicus if the man criticized over trivial matter. 

Nasir was always had a way with words, knowing when to speak and when to keep lips silent. It was at these times that Agron loved to watch his lover. Without having to speak a word, a thousand expressions would cross Nasir’s face, so much said without the utter of voice. It was only through countless hours of watching that Agron had learned each expression, each twitch or movement of brow and lips. Only Nasir could speak so much without ever parting lips. 

There were other times that Agron would watch, such as when Nasir would be lost in conversation with Naevia or Donar. In one hand he would hold cup of water - wine if the Gods allowed, the other would be moving about, bringing tale that spilled from lips to life. Agron would watch as the orange light of the fire danced across Nasir’s skin making him in some strange way seem more alive, more real. Green eyes would soak in the dark hair that cascaded over Nasir’s shoulder and the way it would sweep across scarred skin with the movement of his head. He would watch as Nasir shifted, legs stretching and then being drawn back to adjust position. He would watch as Nasir turned head, deep dark eyes meeting green and the most brilliant smile would curl lips. A smile that Agron knew was meant just for him. 

Nasir was his heart, his breath, the reason that gave all in battle and risked life. He would watch Nasir for all his days. See his lover to old age, watch as the dark hair became speckled with grey and skin became wrinkled. He would watch and love, for now it was not so much about survival as it was a ritual. To watch, to learn, to see heart grow and in the process hopefully see all that he cared for to freedom, to safety and to old age.


End file.
